Fraternize: Enemies to Lovers Read online

  Hailey Smoke

  Fraternize

  Copyright © 2020 by Hailey Smoke

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  Contents

  1. Juliet

  2. Henry

  3. Juliet

  4. Henry

  5. Juliet

  6. Henry

  7. Juliet

  8. Henry

  9. Juliet

  10. Henry

  11. Juliet

  12. Henry

  13. Juliet

  1

  Juliet

  A smile wreathed my face as I pulled into my usual parking spot in the student’s car park. As of next week, I would have a new place in the Administrative lot, and it was going to be great! I took a slow, deep breath as adrenaline rushed through me at the prospect of the next three months as a Teacher’s Assistant. It was something of a culmination of my three and a half years of hard work. Now, just four months away from graduation, I could add yet another notch to the Juliet Hudson academic achievement board. Not many twenty-three-year-olds could boast of a perfect academic record since kindergarten. It was true.

  I had never gotten anything below an A in my life. Not even in Physical Education. I had been deemed as something of a wonder child or genius. I could do anything I set my mind to in anything I chose. It came as a shock, therefore, that rather than go into the ancient trinity of careers – lawyer, doctor, Indian chief – I opted instead for the martyr’s profession – teacher. Yes. It was true. Even now, nearing the end of my Bachelor program, persons found it difficult to comprehend that someone with the capacity to conjure up something in a lab to heal every disease was an Education major with a specialization in English Literature. But it had always been my passion.

  One group of people who were still in disbelief was my family. I think they still held on to a thread-like hope that I would change lanes and go into Hospitality and Tourism Management and take over The Hudson’s, the family’s chain of hotels which was now in its fourth generation. But, alas! I had remained focused on my dream and had not turned away from my dream of becoming a teacher. The lot, therefore, had to fall to my older brother, Christopher. But at least he was a little closer to understanding how to manage a Hotel with his training in Finance and Business Management. At only twenty-eight, he was already touted as being one of the best in his field and had just missed out on a critical promotion because of the ‘Arleigh Bitch’ as he called her.

  I pulled a face as I swiped on lip gloss using the rearview mirror. Arleigh. That was a name that we had been born hating, and more than likely, our children and grandchildren would grow to hate as well. Like feuding family’s in fables, the Hudson’s and Arleigh’ simply did not see eye to eye. If the family recollections were accurate, it had all started with a partnership deal with my grandfather Horace Hudson and Bruce Arleigh. Where the Hudson’s were into hotels, the Arleigh’ were into restaurants. Horace and Bruce had been classmates in college and had reconnected years later after taking over their respective family businesses. They came up with the idea of incorporating a Arleigh restaurant in every Hudson Hotel. They did a test run with one hotel. It was a disaster. The blame game was played as fingers were pointed. The partners split, and the feud began. The hatred was passed down to my father and from my father to my brother and I. To make matters worse, the Arleigh bastards as we called them, lived just two streets away. It was, therefore, inevitable that we saw them as we moved around our community.

  I smacked my lips together and smiled widely, checking for any lip gloss gunk on my teeth. The reflection looking back at me was that of a curly mop of red hair and deep brown eyes. I had escaped the fate of most red-heads, which saw an abundance of freckles on their faces. Mine were, instead, in places not often seen, like the line down my back and the ones on my hips. I dropped the tube into my bag and slung the strap over my shoulder. I swung my long legs out and stood, stretching up to my full five feet nine-inch height. A quick check of my watch showed that it was almost nine. I quickly locked the car and turned my steps in the direction of the English block.

  I had my first administrative meeting today. Before we had gone on Christmas break, I had met Professor Migdonia. She would be my supervisor for my three-month practicum. I would be given charge of two of her freshman classes for Foundations of Literature and Literary Criticism. It was a rare thing for an undergraduate student to be given two courses. Only Masters level assistants were ever given more than one class. But then again, it was a rare thing even to have an undergraduate education major do the practicum at the college. They were usually sent to the neighboring high schools. But I was no ordinary undergraduate, a fact that had been etched in the minds of the powers that be from the moment I had stepped in as a freshman at orientation. My reputation had preceded me, and I was viewed with a sense of awe and perhaps even whispered about me. I took it all in stride and remained my usual over-achieving humble self.

  On a whim, I had applied to do my practicum at the college. It was a philosophy of mine to aim for the highest goal possible. I preferred to try and fail than to wonder what would have happened if I had tried. My gamble paid off, in so much that some of my peers wished they had taken the risk also rather than settling for practicum in the high school or junior high system. But there was a method to my madness. In my desire to be an educator, I was not thinking about any other level except tertiary. This practicum would be the perfect addition to my curriculum vitae. A stellar recommendation from my prospective supervisor, Professor Migdonia, would also go a far way in getting me noticed wherever I decided to apply for Masters Programs. Prof. Mig., as we liked to call her, was a tiny giant in Academia. She was a revered name in the field of Literatures in English and had written many discourses on varying topics in the area. Some of these pieces were used for class material in many colleges. There was always a method to my madness. I never played checkers one move at a time. I was more the chess type – ever ten steps ahead.

  I hastened to the double door of the department building and was almost bowled over as the door swung open under my hand, and I lurched forward.

  “Oh!” I fell inward and bumped into a solid body. Automatically my hand went out to steady myself, and I found my elbow gripped firmly.

  “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have pulled the door so hard.” A warm, smooth baritone tickled my ears, and I looked up into the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life. It was as if a piece of the sky had been placed within the tiny orbs. A lock of thick black hair had fallen across a broad forehead, and a sudden urge to smooth it away took hold of me.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.” I smiled and
straightened. The hand slipped from my elbow and went, instead, to hold the door open. I continued my journey through it, brushing by the man. I was a tall girl, but he towered over me. I placed him at about six feet four inches.

  “Thank you,” I demurely smiled as I slipped by.

  “You’re welcome.” He flashed a brilliant smile, showing off his even white teeth. Then he slipped through, and the door closed behind him. I resisted the urge to peek through the glass to watch his retreat. Instead, I kept my head straight and went on about my business. I couldn’t shake the sensation of a phantom hand, gripping my elbow.

  “Good morning, Elsie!” I greeted the receptionist warmly. I had taken a liking to her from the first time I had met her as a freshman. I had often thought that if I were indeed going into the hotel business, I would have made her a very enticing offer. She was the kind of person a successful business needed to be the first point of contact for customers.

  “Good morning, Juliet! Happy New Year! How was the holiday?”

  “Good food and spent with family. How was yours?”

  “We went visiting. It was great!”

  “That’s great. And we made it into a brand new year.”

  “With new dreams and possibilities. But I’m sure you didn’t come to hear me prattle on about the holidays. What can I do for you? Especially a week before classes resume.”

  “I’m here for the administrative meeting. I scored a spot as Prof. Mig’s TA for my practicum.”

  Her eyes popped open, and I grinned.

  “More like sold an organ and a few limbs. Look at you! And an undergrad at that. I’m so proud of you, Juliet. I always knew you were a special one from the day I saw you walk in asking for directions to freshman orientation. Congratulations! That meeting is at nine-thirty in room N1. You have a little time still.”

  “Thanks, Elsie. Enjoy the rest of your morning!”

  “Thanks, Juliet. You too.”

  With a wave, I made my way in the direction of the room. I soon found a comfortable seat and watched as the room filled up with attendees. At nine-thirty on the dot, the meeting was called to order. I sat quietly and made mental notes. This was going to be my life in a few years if I maintained my current trajectory. I looked around at the various lecturers in the department. I had sat in front of quite a few of them over the past three years. Yet now here I was, almost a colleague.

  At eleven, the meeting neared its ending. The final item on the agenda was to introduce the TA’s and who they were working with in the department. I stood and was acknowledged along with the other TA’s. As was anticipated, there was a low hum when I was introduced as an undergraduate. The meeting broke up shortly after, and I gathered my things and stood. I drew closer to Professor Migdonia, waiting until she ended a conversation with the department chair.

  I smiled as she came over, greeting me with a smile of her own.

  “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting my dear. Let’s go to my office, shall we? We do need to talk as something has come up.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Had something come up? What had come up? Would it affect my practicum? My heart raced, and my head felt light as I tripped along behind the little woman. Finally, we were alone in her office. She waved me over to a desk across from hers.

  “This, my dear, will be your desk for the next three months.”

  I breathed an inward sigh of relief. I still had a desk for three months. My practicum was intact. So what was it that we needed to talk about now? Almost as if she read my mind, Professor Migdonia continued.

  “I know you expected to work with me for the next three months, and I, too, had been looking forward to supervising a bright young woman like yourself. You remind me so much of myself at your age – always aiming high. But there has been a slight change. Or rather exchange. I am being sent on an overseas assignment to research a paper of pedagogical proportions. At first, I was conflicted as it was quite sudden, decided only two weeks ago as a matter of fact. My first thought, of course, was for my duties here. They have, however, been thought of as well, and Excelsior College will have the loan of the affable Prof. Art. At the same time, my overseas research was being negotiated, his replacing me was also being negotiated. There is a pilot approach that outlines an inclusive approach to teaching English Literature, one it seemed that had been created, piloted, and perfected by him at Munro College. He will be my replacement and your supervisor for the next three months.”

  I nodded speechlessly.

  “I know it comes as a bit of a shock, but I have interacted with him, and I know that I am leaving you in excellent hands. You will do brilliantly as expected. He will write your recommendation, and based on his, and I will still write one of my own. Your assignments remain the same. However, you will be privy to his methods in both a theoretical and practical way. You will have a little more to do as you will also be assisting him with the re-design of the curriculum as the method is piloted so that we can roll it out in the new academic year.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. My words may not have been as convincing as I had hoped as Prof. Mig. came around to my side of the desk and squeezed my shoulder comfortingly.

  “Juliet, you’re a stellar student. You can handle it. I have every faith in you.”

  I smiled brightly. “I will be fine, Professor. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I was preparing to work with a familiar face, but now I will simply adjust my mindset to working with a stranger. But I’ll be fine.”

  “Wonderful! I have already told Prof. Art. a bit about you. He was a bit shocked, too, as he was expecting to work with a graduate student. I’ve told him he has nothing to worry about, however, as he had one of the best in the field, and he will be well-assisted.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Not a problem, dear. I know you may have a few questions, but you will meet him tomorrow and can ask them of him.”

  I nodded and stood. “Thank you again, Professor. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “You will.”

  I waved goodbye and exited the office. Well! What a way to start my practicum. Between my practicum, my papers, and this re-design project, the semester already looked like a challenge. Well, Juliet Hudson had never backed down from a challenge and did not intend to start now.

  2

  Henry

  “I’ll come back tomorrow to get my class schedule, Professor Migdonia.”

  The tiny woman nodded as we ended our conversation. “I know I’m leaving my students in good hands, Henry. Your reputation precedes you. It’s a pity you can’t stay for the meeting and meet the TA who will be working with you.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was nearly nine, and my sister was a stickler for time. I was to meet her at nine-fifteen for breakfast. I shook my head.

  “I’m meeting my sister at nine-fifteen. No can do. But I will be back tomorrow. I can show myself out.” I shook her hand briefly and left the office.

  I hurried down the corridor and through the foyer, raising my hand in farewell to the accommodating receptionist. I pulled open the door and was met by a gasp and a body running into mine. Instinctively I grabbed the person to prevent a fall. I gripped an elbow and proceeded to examine the person who had run into me.

  “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have pulled the door so hard.” I looked down into warm brown eyes, the shade of rich honey. They seemed to swirl, and I felt as if I was being pulled into their depths. There was a riot of red curls that were held back by a scarf and tumbled about her shoulders. Her skin was the shade of fresh cream and surprisingly perfect for a red-head. It made me want to take a lock and examine the root to see if she was indeed a carrot top.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.” She smiled and straightened.

  I released her elbow and held the door open. I was surprised to find that although I stood at six feet four inches, her head came to my shoulder. She was a tall girl. She brus
hed past me, and I picked up a slight whiff of berries.

  “Thank you,” She smiled as she slipped by, and I was treated to the appearance of a pretty little dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  “You’re welcome.” I flashed a brilliant smile in return then closed the door behind me. I resisted the urge to turn back and find some reason to speak to the receptionist or go back to Professor Migdonia, just to get another look at the gorgeous red-head. Instead, I continued on my journey. I could not, however, shake the tingling feeling from my fingers where I had gripped her elbow. I was running late, and in all my thirty-three years, tardiness was not something I had been known to be. One thing anyone could say about Henry Arleigh was that he was never late, and I did not intend to start now.

  I hurried to the parking lot and jumped into my truck. My destination was just five minutes away at one of the restaurants my family-owned. All across the country, we now had roughly twenty franchises, but the original restaurant, which was started by my great grandfather, still stood in our neighborhood. I had been back for only two days, but I felt the last fifteen years melt away as I saw familiar faces and places.

  As I turned the corner to drive the last few blocks to meet my sister, Pamela, I was faced with a monstrosity of a building masquerading as a hotel. It was one of the horrible Hudson hotels, and automatically I pulled a face. I sucked my teeth and rolled my eyes as I drove by. Not even the past fifteen years had dulled the hatred I felt for that name, simply because theirs had wronged my family. The issue had started when my grandfather Bruce had entered a contract with Horace Hudson to provide a Arleigh restaurant in every Hudson hotel. The attempt had failed miserably, and Hudson had accused my grandfather of conspiring to take over the hotels. It had not ended well and suffice it to say that the generations had carried on the feud. There was never a year that the incident did not come up for discussion. It was especially tricky as the Hudsons did not live very far from us.